


Masturbation Without Respiration

by casey270



Category: Original Work
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, No Plot, erotic asphyxiation, just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: Exploring the boundaries of erotic asphyxiation





	Masturbation Without Respiration

**Author's Note:**

> for the 2018 Bring Back the Porn Challenge.  
> No plot, just porn
> 
> Beta - Minxie

[](https://clipartxtras.com/download/d43a225b3c581a1fdf4b2c6b9fd5dee9d9a2e4e6.html)

 

_This is good,_ he reminds himself. _This is what I wanted. Hell, I’m the one who set this whole damn thing up._

Some deep corner of his brain knows that he can end this anytime he wants to. He can tap out. He can give up if it gets to be too much for him. But knowing it and doing it aren’t exactly connecting in his thoughts. 

Right now his mind is in a swampy netherworld, filled with pleasure-driven tendrils of sensation. Thoughts are nothing more than a fog, a mist with no substance. All he can grasp, all he can be sure of, is the feeling of the hands around his neck, pushing in tight, cutting of all but the smallest flow of air. 

A quiet murmur, just barely audible over the sound of rushing blood that’s filling his ears and his world, catches his attention and reminds him that he has an audience. An audience that he, himself, had thought necessary for some reason. He can’t remember why now. He knows that it’d been important to him to have witnesses to this - strangers, people he’d never seen before and, more importantly, had little chance of seeing again. 

He knows it has something to do with the submission thing. He’s giving up control of his privacy right along with control of the very oxygen in his body, but he still needs to have power over something, like deciding how this whole scenario plays out. 

It’s a balancing act, and he’d let his instincts guide him.

The fact that it’s a man, a large man, who has big, strong hands around his neck, is important to the power balance he needs. So is his being able to call the shots himself. The big guy can only do what his rules allow him to do. He’s not ready to give everything up. Not yet, anyway.

He finally remembers to open his eyes. The fulfilment of what he needs can’t be complete unless he sees the other people seeing him. He’s not into humiliation at all, but this is so much more than that. He’s putting on a show for them, but that’s not all it is, either. He’s bringing them right into the middle of it by letting them experience it by watching him. He needs to see his pleasure reflected in their eyes, right along with their desire to be in his place. 

Some small part of him needs to know that they’re all willing to trade places with him in this exact moment just so they could feel everything he’s feeling, because that somehow makes this all okay. It keeps this from being his dirty little desire that he has to keep hidden. 

He’s jacking his own dick for them, but he can see how much they want to reach right out and help him along. While there aren’t many people standing around him - he doesn’t need more than a handful to to get the response he needs - he can feel them pressing in, closer and closer. It’s their need that moves them, not their feet. Without seeming to take a step, they lean in tighter. With the smallest shuffles, they work their way nearer to the scene unfolding before them.

His hips jerk at the thought of them being close enough now to touch him if he allows it. _Only_ if he allows it. The movement causes a momentary tightening of the hands around his neck, stealing another precious bit of oxygen from his brain and causing the grayness at the edges of his vision to creep in just a little more. 

He can feel his heart beating hard and fast against his ribs. He knows he doesn’t have much longer. He’s reaching the point where every touch is so much more - harder and softer, gentler and firmer, stronger and yielding, all at once. The point when pain brings pleasure. It all mixes in his mind to try and push him over the edge. 

The pressure of the hands around his neck matches the tempo he sets jacking his dick. Fast or slow, it’s up to him. Except it’s not, really. His need is setting the pace now. He’s chasing something bigger than he’s ever experienced, and every tiny spark he sees out of the corner of his eye tells him that he has to go faster if he ever wants to catch it. 

His body wants to match his breathing to the pace his heart is beating. But those big, strong hands around his throat aren’t allowing more than a whisper of air, no matter how hard he tries to pull in big, gulping swallows. 

His balls draw up tight against his body, waiting as he walks the razor sharp edge of orgasm. There’s a feeling of heat growing in his belly that can burn all the way through him, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. The intensity of this one single moment is right on the border of _too much_ and _not enough,_ wanting more, longer. 

It feels like he's fighting on two fronts, but he can’t make things clear enough in his mind to know what or how or who he’s fighting against. All he can do is feel, and fuck, how he can feel. His whole body is a spring that’s wound too tight, humming with the energy that wants to explode. Every touch, every pull of his dick, every current of air that ghosts across his skin, sets sparks flying and nerves thrumming. He wants them all, but he wants to run from them. He wants this to go on forever at the same time he wants it to end. It’s too much, too perfect, too exquisite, and it’s breaking him into tiny, sharp shards that are gathering in his gut, ready to tear him apart.

When he doesn’t think he can stand another second, his whole world flashes white - blinding, all-encompassing light blocking out everything but the pleasure of the moment. He’s a supersonic supernova, and he’s everything and nothing. 

For a second, he thinks the world exploded, but quickly realizes it’s just him that exploded. His hands are still around his dick, quiet now, unable to reach up to tap the hands that continue to restrict his air supply. He’s boneless and floating, and he thinks he’d die fucking happy and spent if those hands stay right where they are. 

His eyes are closed, his head drooping, and his mind is totally lost in the quintessence of pleasure when he pulls his first unrestricted breath into his aching lungs. He’s almost sad to feel the etherealness of the whole scene end as he feels himself settling back into his body. He’d been an elemental god for a moment, and he’d liked it. He's not sure if he'll ever try this again, but it's been more than he expected - more feelings, more sensations. He knows he won't ever forget it. He’s grateful for having this experience to store and keep and revisit when his mind is clearer.


End file.
